All Along the Watchtower: The Joker
by Mister Buch
Summary: Young Jeff Moreau is a serious, dedicated student at flight school. He's the best in his class, so he sets his sights higher for his first real test flight. The test will earn him a nickname, a new life in space and one day a friend.
1. Every Greedy Bastard Defeats Fackler

**Some introduction is in order here.**

**Knightfall1138 and I are working on a collaborative adventure story about Kaidan and Joker on a mission together. It'll be called 'All Along the Watchtower'.**

**We thought it would be fun to write two little prequels – one each, and each focusing on one of our lead characters' pasts.**

**So this story is about Joker, and 'The Thief' is about Kaidan.**

**It's a fanfic event! Or something.**

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**1**

Jeff Moreau grunted as he pulled his metal-braced legs along with him down the wide, white and blue hall. As he made the noise, a young blonde a meter or so away looked sympathetically at him. It really didn't help and just made Jeff clench his teeth in anger.

It would be pointless, but he wanted to take the girl aside for a moment and explain that the grunt was undeserving of her patronizing glance. He was not in pain and was suffering no discomfort. The problem was simply that his baseball cap had slipped a little too far down his forehead, and he had no free hands to rectify the problem. As he moved further into the hall he spotted the tall, imposing statue of Jon Grissom and considered using the Alliance hero's angular elbow to fix his hat. In a moment he had decided against it. Sure, the girl had pissed him off and his restricted vision was not helping matters, but he had enough respect for Grissom to leave the man alone.

The statue was laser-cut and hence it was a perfect likeness. It stood calmly and modestly with its arms behind its back, a deliberate symbol that even the greatest men and women of the Systems Alliance recognized the importance of mutual respect. Jeff liked that, despite occasionally feeling the uniform image of the Alliance a little restrictive to his personality. His instructors at flight school made him cut his hair much shorter than he would like and they were not happy with his slowly-developing stubble, which one day he hoped might finally sprout into an actual beard. Beards were allowed, but the hazel-colored fuzz on his chin was taking way too long to become one.

Only by sporting an unshaved face and a cap, he stood out. Down on the colonies or on Earth, he would have blended in easily, perhaps even appeared a little conservative in his appearance, but here on Arcturus things were different. The massive station was the center of the Alliance, the 'new home for humanity' according to the vids, and here the military ruled. So everyone was neat and tidy, a culture of authority and respect had arisen, and only the dropouts ever sat around idly. There was a fast pace to the station that suited Jeff well. Discreetly he pushed the brim of his cap against a wall and tilted the hat back up to its correct position.

"There ya go," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. After cracking his neck a little, he pushed down onto his crutches and made his way out of the hall and into a corridor. At the end of this was the main entrance to the Academy test center.

Three more corridors and two more caring glances later, he reached Flight Lieutenant Donna Fackler's office and knocked with his crutch.

"Come in!" The voice was high-pitched to the point of unpleasantness. Jeff had never seen her talk to someone who wasn't wincing. It was usual for her to affect this ridiculous, sing-song voice whenever speaking to her students. More than once, Jeff had overheard Fackler speaking to her husband via comm and discovered to his bafflement that her real voice was deep and rather pleasant. Maybe she used her work-voice to make the cadets pay attention. If so it never failed her.

Pushing the door open, Jeff strode in and let it flap shut behind him. Fackler was standing and leaning over a computer screen at an odd angle, typing away while straining her neck toward her student, as if the orange screen possessed some terrific gravitational force.

"Hi Jeff, I'll be with you in just a moment," she sang.

"No problem." He leaned against a wall for a second and took a look out of the window.

"You're early?"

He was, but only by fifteen minutes. It was about usual for him.

"Yeah," he said simply, sounding friendly.

"How was your piano lesson?"

Jeff leaned back harder against the wall and let it take some of his weight.

"Not so bad."

At this, Fackler found the strength to wrench herself free from the clutches of the screen. "Oh, Jeff, what happened?"

It irritated him that the teacher had managed to infer that something had happened.

"Nothing," he told her. "Just didn't go well. I can't get the hang of it."

"I'm surprised!" she said. Jeff decided to take it as a compliment.

"I can't get it. I've been studying for a couple weeks but I can't get the tunes to _flow_. I should've learned guitar."

Fackler crossed her long, thin hands on her lap. "Are you forgetting the notes? You know the old memory aide, don't you? E, G, B, D…"

"Yeah, I know it," Jeff interrupted. "_Every good boy deserves favor_". Privately, he had invented his own version of the phrase, which he preferred. Memorizing the age-old mnemonic had been among his initial tasks, learned even before his first lesson. In the days before he started, he had planted himself in front of books and screens and learned everything he could to give himself a head start. The positions and the sounds of the notes and chords were completely familiar to him. It was the timing he couldn't handle. His inability to master the basic skill of stringing notes together made him mad. Jeff could do any damn thing he put his mind to, but this piano business was more of a challenge than he was used to.

"It's strange that you're having so much trouble," Fackler told him, and as she spoke he identified every note she used in the sentence. "You're so good with your hands."

Jeff could see what she meant. Flying an Alliance space vessel depended almost entirely on helmsmen pushing the correct sequences into various panels and keypads. Flying for the Navy had always been his dream, and he was good at it. She knew as well as he did that he was not just the best student in her class, but the best in the Academy. He had long-since given up comparing himself to the other students, even the seniors.

Now he was gunning for the instructors. He had seven more months of training before graduation, which he figured was just about enough time to do it. Separate scores were awarded for simulation results in take-off, cruising, military maneuvers, docking and in the final semester, FTL speeds and Mass Relays. That gave him eight instructors to best, six times each.

"You'd imagine that because of your condition, you'd find something like the piano quite easy!" Fackler warbled.

Jeff's throat dried with anger. He was used to this kind of patronizing crap from her, but he was still sore about his earlier failure at the piano lesson. "Vrolik's syndrome doesn't _make you_ a better pianist," he growled. It took some will to restrain himself to only this, but he managed to put enough venom into his words to earn a startled look from his teacher, if not an apology.

"No, of course not," she said, brushing it off. "Of course not. But you know how blind people have very acute senses of hearing…?"

Closing his eyes, Jeff tried hard not to listen to the poisonous, ignorant BS pouring from her glossed lips. He knew it would harm his progression in class if he were to insult her, or even start a heated argument. He had to spend the rest of the semester in the same room with her, so he needed her to like him.

"Blind people make very good _pianists_, in fact," she carried on, unaware of the effect she was having on her waiting student.

"Lieutenant Fackler…"

"I told you before, Jeff, just call me Donna. I like to keep informal."

"_Look…_"

She looked startled again and Jeff calmed down a little. It wasn't her fault she knew next to nothing about him, or his disease for that matter. She was just an idiot. In her happy, pretty world the blind were all grinning, brilliant musicians and paraplegics were champion arm-wrestlers. It was okay for her to go ahead thinking that Jeff's superlative piloting skills owed less to his constant, obsessive study and practice and more to some divine system of justice where all physical disabilities were magically evened-out by corresponding super-powers. It was okay because he needed her to teach him as well as she could.

"Never mind," he told her.

"Gee, Jeffy, you look even more serious than usual today. You should try to relax a little or you might harm your performance today."

The little nickname annoyed him, but he ignored it because she had a point. Today was the day of his first real space-flight. No simulations. Considering the photo-realistic surround displays in the simulator booths and the precision-engineered vibrations and gravity effects he had been training under, this should be just like any other practice session. In theory at least. The difference was that he would be actually flying an Alliance vessel, completing a circuit around the series of Relays that circled the station. In less than an hour he would finally be in space, solely in control of a two-man shuttlecraft.

He couldn't wait.

Fackler watched Jeff's face and when he started to relax, she returned her attention to her desk and shuffled some papers, a self-satisfied smirk forming beneath her round nose. In a moment the papers were clipped and neatly put into a drawer. She stood.

"We should call you Smiley Jeff," she said, adding insult to injury. "Jokey Jeffy".

It was all he could do not to curse at her for this. It was as if she was trying to irritate him, though he suspected she meant no harm by it. This made it impossible to insult her back, but no harder to be annoyed.

She opened the door and made a point of holding it open so that Jeff could pass through more easily. Clenching his teeth, he moved through and tried to get to the next door before she reached it. As always, the crutches slowed him down and she made it first.

"Okay!" she trilled. "Are you ready, Jokey Jeffy? Got everything you need to sign-in?"

"I'm ready to go," he confirmed grimly. "I know my ID codes." He had memorized them all over a year ago.

"You know, really, I don't think I've ever seen you smile. I honestly, _literally_ don't think I've ever seen that."

It was hard to know how to respond to this. He had heard this complaint from her many times before and still had no answer for her. Donna Fackler's company had never come close to inspiring Jeff's happiness, but he supposed she had a point. He wasn't exactly known for his sunny disposition. But why should he be? What would be the point?

"Jeff the Joker," she said to herself, her voice almost making it sound like the opening notes of a nursery rhyme.

With a muted sigh, Jeff kept on walking, focusing solely on reaching the next door before she did.


	2. Every Goddamn Boat Deserves Flying

**2**

By the time they had reached the docking bay, Jeff was eager to begin. He didn't show it though, and kept his face completely straight. On the journey Fackler had periodically glanced sadly at him, apparently mourning the plight of the crippled kid whose sense of humor had been tragically taken from him. He ignored her, kept stony-faced and mentally rehearsed the sequences and procedures he would need to beat the instructor's average flight percentage.

"Are you worried about something?" she asked, craning her head.

"Huh?"

"You look worried."

"Just fine, ma'am."

The teacher nodded, with a faux-weary smile draped across her jaw. When they reached the last door she beamed at him. "Here we are, Jokey Jeff! Let's get you up into the big black."

A swipe of a card and a couple of buttons later, the large, clean shuttle bay doors smoothly slid open. They were slower than every other door on the station, and Jeff had to wonder if that was merely for dramatic effect. If so, it did the job. They had to wait a few seconds and drink in the view of the sleek, chrome-covered shuttle. It was the first time Jeff had seen it, and he was impressed. Once there was enough space to get between the doors he started moving, Fackler following behind.

In a moment a part of the shimmering wall of the ship slid to one side, revealing itself to be a door, and a ramp descended. From the interior bounded Steve Rautenbach, looking pleased with himself, followed by a more somber Staff Lieutenant McInarlin. Steve had been lucky to have had the SLT for his instructor. It was little wonder he was pleased with his performance.

"What up, Jeff?" Rautenbach bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall with joy waiting to be shared. Jeff raised an eyebrow in response; the two had never been friendly. "Eighty _five!_" the victorious cadet gloated, elongating the letter I in 'five' for several seconds.

"Good work!" Fackler falsettoed. Jeff took her congratulation to be genuine. He had seen all the teachers' average flight percentages and hers was only eighty-nine. She ranked the lowest of all the teaching staff in the Academy. McInarlin was second from the top with an incredible ninety-seven percent. Near flawless in every recorded flight. Jeff knew and accepted that he wasn't yet good enough to reach those heights. But he knew that today, if he concentrated and if he was lucky, he could place over eighty-nine.

He could beat Fackler, and do it with her sat right next to him, watching. And he could sure as hell beat Steve.

The Staff Lieutenant followed the exuberant Steve out of the bay, giving a smart nod to Fackler and her pupil. Before the door closed, Jeff was headed toward the little boarding ramp of the _SSV Versailles_. The vessel was small, but just like every Alliance starship, beautiful to look at. The human military was proud of its armada, determined to rival the fleets of the Council races, and this ambition showed in the interior and exterior design of every ship. The small training craft was among the least imposing vessels built by the Alliance, but its sharp, triangular design and elegant silver outline commanded Jeff's attention instantly.

Fackler overtook him and boarded first. Jeff followed and hit the locking mechanism behind him, thus securing the air-tight door with a reassuringly loud _clack_.

Just like the simulators, the inside of the ship was illuminated by a combination of deep blue lights and bright, flat overhead strips in the ceiling. Just like the simulators, there was little to see beyond the cockpit and a little corridor leading to the engine rooms. However, there was a little dirty mark smeared onto the front of the glass screen at the head of the ship. This little detail, when it caught Jeff's attention, suddenly changed his perception of the experience. He may have come to take his test, with the sole intention of bettering his teacher's score, but there was more to this. This was _real_. He was about to see space again. Hell, he was about to see the Arcturus Fleet. He was going to _fly_. He was tempted to smile, but decided not to give Fackler the satisfaction.

As Jeff eased himself into the still-warm pilot's seat, positioned his legs and lay his crutches down out of the way, the instructor began activating basic systems and pressing a few keys to start the training program.

"Are you ready?" she asked pointlessly, and Jeff keyed his ID codes into the panel to his left.

Little yellow lights suddenly flicked on behind the panels, separating each key for the student's ease. Without waiting for the command, he allowed his fingers to play delicately across the security panel. When he submitted his command with a final touch, it happened.

The hulking, white doors of the docking bay slid open. Outside the thick walls of the _Versailles,_ the bay was filled with a warning klaxon, but in the cockpit no sound could be heard save Fackler's steady, nasal breathing. The airlock doors parted in reverential silence, ushering Jeff and his ship into the cold, soundless perfection of space.

The sheer black he could see beyond the gate was punctuated with stars here and there, and in one corner he could see the edge of a dreadnought in the distance. To him it was like looking at paradise.

"All right," the instructor said. "Good. Now you already know your course, and I imagine you memorized it." For once she had not underestimated Jeff, and this knowledge lifted his spirits even more. "This is your first percentage-tested flight, so I won't be doing anything to help unless you ask me to. When you're ready, get the drive moving and move your engines. Take your time with it and when you're sure, disengage maglocks and take us out of the station." Her voice seemed to have mellowed slightly. Jeff took a moment to wonder if it was the sight of space that had smoothed her harsh personality. She was a helmswoman herself, after all. Perhaps this was where she felt most at home. It didn't matter.

When the engines kicked in, Jeff felt the dampened rumble of the stationary ship in his feet. Flicking a simple switch, he activated the main engine behind him and began to pull it smoothly to its biting point. Then, with a few taps of his security panel, the maglocks released his ship and he was free, cruising gently into the welcoming vacuum of space.

Passing through what felt like a valley, the _Versailles_ slid perfectly along as the walls of the station seemed to back away from it, revealing more of the majestic, incredible vista before them, inch by teasing inch. At last, a second later, Jeff was free of Arcturus Station. He had to drop his mental rehearsal of codes and sequences for a moment just to allow himself to be awed, to let the spectacle wash over him. Jeff had seen space up close before, once or twice, and he had grown up around Alliance ships. But he had never seen a dreadnought in mid-turn, a massive, shining carrier, a small, circling group of fighters following a frigate, and certainly not a Mass Relay. And behind all of this, nestling in the corner of his field of vision like a smiling sun in a child's drawing, was the gas giant Themis itself.

"You know your points?" Fackler asked.

"Yes ma'am," he replied in a hushed whisper. His tracking points were obvious. The station was built at the center of four Mass Relays, each one a marker for his rehearsed, circular cruise. One of the ancient, giant structures led to Charon and Earth, the old home planet. The fleet stationed here was not just for show, but to provide complete protection for the birthplace of humanity. Jeff had heard that things were bad on that world, and that the government and people there were eroding from within, but it didn't matter to him. They would never be attacked from the outside, and they ought to be thankful for that.

Jeff's left hand increased the Versailles' cruising speed in a gentle, easy arc that Fackler would not even have noticed if she did not have an eye on his readings.

"Good start, Jokey," she said. It was hard not to imagine that she was trying to throw him off his game, but he knew she had no reason to. Again he came to the conclusion, _she's just an idiot._

The _Versailles_ approached the first of the Relays quickly, but Jeff felt no temptation to rush his approach, preferring to savor every moment. With one eye on his readouts, he kept his speed exactly as was prescribed by the examination board. Seventy seconds later he reached the Relay and it occurred to him that if he only keyed in a couple of sequences he would jump halfway across the Galaxy. It would be incredible. He coughed deliberately, dissuading himself from such thoughts. There would be plenty of Mass Relays to jump through once he was graduated and flying frigates and cruisers.

"Alright Jeff," Fackler said quietly. "Time for your first maneuver. You have plenty of room to turn starboard here, but I want you to make the turn as sharp as you can."

Jeff had been ready for this, and was already killing his forward momentum as she spoke. When she finished he flexed his fingers a little above the keys. Completing this turn sharply and quickly, whilst keeping it smooth, would require more than simply knowing which systems to activate. For this he needed timing. Reaching to his left, he gently flared the port engines, pressing harder on three pressure pads to ease the power higher.

For a moment some memories from his piano lesson that morning intruded upon his thoughts and he saw the thick, white keys in front of him. He tried to shake it off and concentrated on keeping his power steady with three fingers of his left hand. While he held the chord, his right hand played the notes, darting across his tilt controls to decrease his turning circle, then preparing a quick, moderate speed boost.

He waited a second, then all of his fingers came down heavily on either side of his panels. The _Versailles_ responded to his perfect commands with a slick little shimmy to the right as it straightened itself and shot forward, dead ahead. His fingers relaxed. The melody had been perfect.

"Very good," Fackler told him. "Well done, Joker Jeff." By now he was not even hearing the name, instead simply planning and mentally rehearsing the next trick he would be asked to do. It was a simple dive, but he was planning to add a little flourish of his own for extra points. He had tried it over and over in the simulators, in classes and after hours, and now he was expert.

But before that he had to cruise around the majority of the Relays. Letting himself relax just a tiny bit, he tilted the ship a little and cruised in his circular path around the Mass Relays, using them as checkpoints. Once he had his course set there was little to do but keep everything ticking over evenly. Fackler took this opportunity to attempt once more to lighten his mood.

"Try to relax into it," she said. "_Enjoy _it."

Though his mouth remained straight and shut and his rapidly flicking eyes never turned to her, he spent the next few seconds laughing hysterically. It would be interesting to see what she said when he beat her percentage.

The teacher made only a couple more brief attempts to cheer him up, in the form of nods and quiet compliments. He ignored them all as he immersed himself in the every movement of the ship, pressing each key just the right way and for just the right amount of time, keeping the symphony he was playing on them moving along. This was a lull, but he could see the last Relay approaching. When he reached it, he would make it a masterpiece.

"All right," Fackler said when finally they came close enough. "Here's your last Relay. There's two more maneuvers to do. You're doing very well so far, so stay cool."

"Ma'am," he replied, just waiting for her to say it. He could barely wait.

"First, a dive. Try to drop as fast and as straight as you can. There hasn't been much practice for this in the simulators, but that's because I wanted to see if you could pull it off here in the–"

This was enough of an invitation for Jeff. His fingers moved with controlled ferocity across panels on either side of him and he flipped the little ship over on itself, just smoothly enough that neither of them felt it. The sight of the stars and ships in the viewscreen turning over on their vertical axis was enough to temporarily silence Fackler.

The moment after it had flipped, the _Versailles_ received a strong burst of power and shot downwards. It took only a second to curve straight now that it was facing the other way. Soon it was dropping as straight as a heavy stone in a clear sky.

"Wh… I meant a _standard_, Jeff! A standard dive! You know, just arc downwards!" This time Jeff paid close attention to her words. He thought he could detect a hint of a smirk in her voice, but he had to test it.

"Sorry ma'am," Jeff said. "I was going for an advanced move."

"Yes, I see that! You haven't been taught that technique yet, Jeff."

He waited to see what she would say next. He had to gauge Fackler, because as much as he longed to test his skills, he knew that his grade at the end was more important. He wanted to shake her up, but not _too_ much.

"I would have liked a warning, is all."

She was smiling just slightly now, curving her thin eyebrows into her furrowed brow. The pilot in her had enjoyed the surprise move. Jeff exhaled through his nose, sure now that he could get away with one last trick. Just a little one.

Slowly, the little starship turned around in a small circle and curved its nose upwards. With a twist and little boost from the engines, the _Versailles_ returned to its original, steady altitude and gained on the Mass Relay.

Jeff knew the Relay well. Everyone did. It was a part of human history, counted among Arcturus' many tourist attractions. This giant, ancient alien artifact was linked to the Charon Relay orbiting Pluto. It connected Earth to the rest of the Galaxy, it had brought humanity out of its old star system and it was the Relay used by the first humans to ever attempt to jump across the galaxy. The hero Jon Grissom and his brave crew had appeared through it back in 2149, when no-one had any clue what lay on the other side or if they would ever return. The station was built at the same 'spot' as it were, to honor that mission. Jeff was not a sentimental young man, but he approached it with a little reverence.

"Last of all," Fackler said, interrupting his thoughts, "when you're close enough, I'd like you to fly us in two quick, tight circles around the Relay. Alright?"

"Alright," he replied nonchalantly, and his tone alerted her attention.

"And don't get too close, Joker Jeff!"

"Course not."

Now that he had some distance between himself and the Relay, Jeff allowed himself to gather speed. His eyes darted about his scopes and the reinforced viewscreen in front of him, remembering and tracking all the other ships between him and his point. There was a frigate swooping about and demonstrating some poorly-timed maneuvers, another one, cruising steadily, which would be well out of the way in a few seconds, and the enormous spacecraft carrier he had seen earlier. The leviathan loomed into his view, crawling along with no apparent purpose. He knew he would have to duck underneath it, as if respectfully bowing, to get past. Locking in its position, he keyed in that command early so that he could think about something else.

His little finger twitched as he gazed upon the Mass Relay. Grissom's Relay, it was sometimes called. When the carrier crawled further into view, it seemed to lose all of its majesty as the Prothean Structure dwarfed it, drowning it in bright blue light from its element zero core. The light, reflected by the revolving rings surrounding it, routinely flashed into the cockpit of the _Versailles_, illuminating the room for a split second. Each time it did, Jeff felt a little spark within him. A little hypnotic pull, telling him to come closer. To connect. Just make an approach run.

Jumping a Mass Relay was a surprisingly easy business. Once an approach vector was calculated and set, the Relay did all the work. Jeff had never tried, even simulated, but he knew how to do it.

He could do it. Easy. He could get closer to that blue eezo core, as close as it gets, and then… flash. Gone.

He could do it.

A little _bleep_ from his readouts told him to make his move, and he dipped, swan-like, beneath the bulbous hull of the carrier. He made the swoop in a single movement and emerged on the other side shortly afterwards. The Relay was bigger now, and there was nothing to obscure his view of it.

"Now that's the dive I wanted you to make earlier!" Fackler told him happily.

"Do I get points for both?"

She smiled deeply. "No, Joker Jeff, but nice try."

For once, Jeff was glad of Fackler's conversation. It had brought him out of his little daydream, and just in time. With a quick blink he changed course, tilting the _Versailles_ to one side as he did. The move shifted the vessel sideways, as if the wind had changed and carried him with it.

"Approaching the Relay perimeter now," he said to her. She nodded, but he did not notice. Still increasing his speed, he headed for the Relay. The closer he came, the more blue was flashed in little intervals into his cockpit. Soon the flashes were so bright that they blinded him for the brief moments they were there.

When he could see the joins in the perfect, Prothean metal, Jeff banked left and increased speed again.

"First revolution," he said with too much excitement. Being this close to the structure felt good. In his viewscreen he watched the black, dotted curtain of space revolve as he and the Relay seemed to stay still. He saw the fire-red surface of Themis, then a blue flash. He saw the carrier, then a blue flash. He saw the frigate looping, then another flash. Then Themis.

"Second revolution!"

Faster, now. He wanted to beat the blue flashes, to revolve faster than the Relay itself. He could do it. Absently, his left hand calculated an approach vector.

The carrier… blue flash. The frigate and… Themis! Blue flash. He had done it, beaten the revolving rings! But he could do better.

"One more revolution, ma'am!" he called to the woman sitting next to him. It was not a request.

"Al… alright," she replied, uncertain.

Themis…

His left hand plotted an approach run. With one more button he could begin. He could jump with a single press of a key.

Blue flash.

He needed only to press the key beneath his index finger to jump halfway across known space. He caressed the hard, grey button. His final note. The grand ending to this crescendo.

Carrier…

Frigate…

Any moment now… less than a second…

A little light on his main display told him that he was ready.

"Relay is hot…" he murmured to himself.

"Relay is _hot?_" Fackler cried out.

Blue flash.

As the intense light faded from his eyes, Jeff blinked again and remembered what he was doing. His left hand sprang away in fear and he looked at his position. When he saw Themis again, he straightened the ship and shot away from the Relay.

The _Versailles_ blasted clear of the Mass Relay, slowing as it did. Finally it came to an unceremonious cruising speed as it headed back home. Arcturus Station dominated his view, grey and unyielding, waiting for an explanation.

Fackler turned to face her student, clearly having difficultly choosing words. Finally she settled on, "What just happened? Were you plotting a _jump?_"

Jeff stared straight ahead, trying frantically to answer her question. He had lost control, completely and utterly, and for the first time in his life. Until the teacher had spoken, he was about to make an unauthorized jump to Charon, thus ruining his test percentage and maybe even getting him expelled. He felt his neck burning and became very aware of an itch of his forehead.

"Yes… ma'am," he said. There was no point in lying.

"Okay…" Fackler replied. She pursed her lips for a moment, then widened them stupidly. Finally she asked in a desperate tone, "Why?"

Suddenly an idea hit him. After keying-in a steady cruise, he moved his hands away from the panels and turned his head. With a broad, winning smile he turned to meet her eyes.

"Practical joke," he said, grinning.

The teacher widened her eyes, looking more confused than anything else. The slight harshness she had managed to bring into her face vanished, and she stared at the viewscreen ahead. Her neck bent over to one side and she opened her mouth. The slight, wet sound of her lips parting was audible to them both in the empty silence.

After nearly ten full seconds, Lieutenant Fackler laughed. She believed him. Jeff thanked God that she was such an idiot.


	3. Every Golden Boy Dives Further

**3**

Evening was setting in when Jeff returned to his quarters in the barracks. As he watched the door slide open with a familiar little squeak, he was wondering what to do about dinner. He was not particularly hungry, just confused and unnerved by the strange moment at the Relay when he had lost his self-control. Maybe food would relax him a little. Either way it was better to wait for his bunkmate, Maksood, to get back from his own exam so they could eat together. As he strode across the room he took a great deal of care and moved at half his regular speed. He didn't feel safe at his usual pace. It was as if he could no longer trust himself to take care of his legs.

Fackler had fallen for his 'practical joke' excuse, and making her laugh with it had given him a strange feeling of power he was still trying to figure out. It remained to be seen, however, if his stunt would cost him many marks. He knew he would get extra credit for his two expert dives, his flawless cruising and take off and his three tight spins around the Relay, but it was impossible to guess what demerit he may earn for very nearly jumping to Pluto. He felt helpless, and he hated it.

Sitting himself down on his wheeled office chair, he removed his hat and yawned. Today he had screwed up his piano lesson and maybe done the same with his first flight exam. Now, waiting for Maksood, he had nothing to do but improve on one of these failures. With a push, he wheeled the chair over to the little desk he and Maksood shared and switched on a console. When the orange display screen materialized in front of him, he activated a program and watched as the garish lights rearranged themselves into the shape of a keyboard.

The practice program he had downloaded was nothing like the real thing; the black keys were dark orange and the white ones were transparent and outlined. When he pressed his finger to a key it passed right through into thin air, although the synthesized note itself sounded perfect. Another display screen with sheet music popped up above the holographically projected instrument and he flexed his fingers.

After one note, the perfectly-replicated sound of a bell interrupted him. He sighed with relief, thinking the call was a nice excuse not to practice his music right now. He was not in the mood to play, and trying would probably just make things worse. But until he could eat, he had nothing else to do. With renewed energy, he wheeled across the room and flicked a switch.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Jeff!" came a warm, happy voice through the room's speakers. He recognized it and smiled an exhausted smile.

"Hey mom," he replied, talking to the empty space around him. His mother was only a mile or so away, but still felt the need to call him on the phone, as she insisted on calling it, every other day.

"So?" Her voice filled the room, much as it tended to when he saw her in person.

He felt like teasing her. "So, what?"

"Oh don't even start."

He laughed. "I don't know yet. I just got back to my place. She should be sending me the results in the next couple hours."

"She?" his mother asked, curious. "Who did you get?"

"Fackler," he told her.

"Jesus."

"I know."

For a moment he heard her making a clicking sound with her gums. It sounded odd, played at a high volume and bouncing off the walls. "Well, let me know when you find out," she said. Instinctively, Jeff nodded in reply and she spoke again. "Did it go well? I just kinda assume that it did because it's _you_, but you don't sound too happy."

"It went good. I pulled some fancy moves she didn't ask for. I'll let you know, mom."

"Are you okay for money?" she asked, apparently not willing to let the conversation die. "I can _send_ you some money."

"I'm fine. I don't spend much. Gotta go now. I'll call you back!"

"Call me back," she said.

"I'll call you back. Bye."

"Okay," she said, and silence returned.

He was chuckling a little as he returned his chair and his gaze to the orange keyboard. His mother always seemed to put him in a good mood when she called, though he knew once she started talking she might never stop. Moving away from her and into the Academy had been a terrific relief for him, but sometimes he worried that she had no-one to talk to.

Because of his disease, Jeff had suffered a difficult and unpleasant childhood, starting immediately with his traumatic birth. Several of the bones in his legs were broken during labor, and only swift action by the doctors had saved him. Working a job in the shipyard whilst single-handedly raising a child with brittle bones had been a terrific strain on Rebecca Moreau's life, and her more gutless friends started disappearing quickly. After fifteen years, Jeff was all she had left, but they shared a close bond. Normally he would have let her talk, but he was really not in the mood. Scowling, he told himself that he would call her back and talk for hours, just as soon as he had his results.

Gritting his teeth, he stared hard at the sheet music in front of him and wondered how he could translate the sequence of notes into a piece of music. It seemed to him that the written guide was not enough instruction for him to get it right. All the hard stuff was missing from these instructions. It was just a list of notes. A memory aide.

He played the first few notes. It sounded wrong.

"God damn piece of…"

The door opened at this and distracted him again. Through it stepped Maksood, looking very pleased with himself.

"Hey Mak," Jeff said flatly. "You're back. How did it go?"

Maksood sat on the edge of his bed and immediately started to loosen his clothes. "Pretty good!" he replied. "Seventy nine percent! Not a bad score for a first try. Better than my simulations, too!"

"Good wo…" Jeff began, before realizing something. "Hey wait, you got your percentage already?" Thinking back, he realized that Steve Rautenbach had been boasting about his score too. "What instructor did you have?"

"Fackler," his roommate replied with one finger in his collar. "You didn't get your score yet?"

"No. Damn it!" Jeff seethed from behind his teeth. If Fackler had been calculating her students' percentages right after their tests, why was he still waiting? It could only be bad.

Mak was evidently not interested in whatever was bothering Jeff, still on a high from his result. Coughing a little, the stocky young man stood and strolled over to their wardrobe behind Jeff's chair. As he squeezed past, his waist passed through the holographic keyboard and accidentally played a number of high notes. Moving his chair a little to give him room, Jeff deactivated the console and exhaled.

It was at times like this that he wished he had taken the Military Education Authority up on their offer to give him his own room. At the time, it had seemed like an insipid act of charity, and he had refused. Right now he wished for some privacy and room to move around, but Jeff preferred a cramped room to sympathy from the Alliance.

"So, you're learning to fly _and_ play the piano?" Maksood asked, manipulating his eyebrows in an annoying way.

"Yeah," Jeff told him. "Maybe at the same time, even."

Either Mak didn't get the little quip, or he didn't find it funny. Jeff just waited for him to change, drumming his fingers a little and having trouble doing it right. By the time his bunkmate had moved away, he had perfected the motion and worn a wrinkle into his pale forehead. He grew tired of the task and stared dead ahead.

"What do you want to eat?" he said to the other student.

"I wanta order. And I wanta drink," he replied, now laying down on his bunk with an exaggerated arm-stretch. "Get that screen up and get us a menu."

Jeff swung his chair over across the room again. "Now you're talking," he said softly, before grabbing onto the computer desk to stop himself. As he reactivated the bright display screen, he wondered if it was worth checking his personal messages, just in case his scores had come through. It had been about fifteen minutes since his last check.

Biting his bottom lip with the sheer frustration, Jeff opened his mail program. To his surprise there was a new message, with no title, from Lieutenant Fackler. He decided to accept it as text rather than play it out loud. After a couple of buttons were clicked, the computer projected a dark tablet into the air in front of his face. A second later, the message had formed, letter by agonizing letter, materializing too slowly for the eager student's racing eyes. When at last the final character was displayed, he finished reading and breathed.

_Joker Jeff,_

_My apologies for the delay in your grade. Considering your actions at the last Relay, my decision was not easy and I brought in a second opinion from Staff Lieutenant McInarlin. I now write to inform you that your grade for this initial flight test is 91% overall accuracy. A more detailed report will be available in print from the student support room._

_Frankly, if you had lost your control of the situation you would have lost marks for it. As it happens, your maneuvers were more than I asked for and all performed superbly. Just next time, don't surprise me like that!_

_Well done and keep smilin'!_

_Lt. __Donna Fackler_

Quietly, Jeff closed the message.

"Got your score?"

"Ninety-one, Mak," he said emotionlessly. He looked down at the desk, contemplating his grade. It was good. Two percent higher than the lowest-scoring instructor at the Academy. To him, Fackler's message was a shamed admission of her inferiority. He had beaten her while she watched, and now, after a pained and drawn-out effort, she had acknowledged it. That left seven more instructors for him to humiliate. His next score would have to be over ninety-four. He would aim for a hundred.

"Hey," said Maksood, behind him. Jeff turned his head to see the young cadet leaning in, an idiotic grin on his wide face. Mak had to stifle a laugh as he said, "Nice work, _Joker!_"

Jeff turned his head back, wheeled his chair across the room once more and reactivated the holographic keyboard. Despite his great success, he did not feel like celebrating. He was not even hungry anymore. Annoyingly, Mak had been reading the message over his shoulder. Worse, it looked like his new nickname was catching on.


	4. Even Greaser Biotics Deserve Forgiveness

_Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune  
Bird fly high by the light of the moon  
Oh, Jokerman_

Bob Dylan

-

_Three__ Years Later_

The plain, gleaming corridors of Arcturus Station had barely changed in the time that Joker had been away. However, as he made his way along the large hall that made up the central hub of the various Alliance Academies, he felt as if he were exploring the station for the first time. It was perhaps the new lighting that made it look so alien to him. During the two years he had spent on government and military starships, the Alliance had opted to cast deep, primary-colored lights in most of the corridors. This was obviously an attempt to ape the style of the Citadel's Wards.

He silently snorted and smiled wryly as he came closer to the Jon Grissom statue. Now its head and shoulders were illuminated in blue fro overhead. Directing his attention away from the garish sight, he wondered how long it would be before a stupid VI tour guide was installed in front of it.

Shaking his head as if to wipe his mind clean, Joker got a move on and increased his pace. He was back home for less than a day, and had just left his mom's place in order to make his strange appointment. His tour with his last ship, the _SSV McKinley_, was not yet over but he had been ordered off the ship in order to meet with someone named Captain Bryant here at the Academy. It was top secret, and he wanted to be there early.

Joker located Bryant's office, buried deep in the heart of the station, seven minutes before he was scheduled to arrive. To his relief and mild amusement, he found a small, cozy waiting room outside. A receptionist guarded it and she gave a shy smile as he appeared, complete with arched eyebrows. He couldn't help thinking that she looked cute, although from her exaggerated expression he figured she was not his type.

"Good afternoon!" she said loudly. "Can I help you?"

"Hey," he replied. "I'm Flight Lieutenant Jo… Jeff Moreau. Got an appointment with Captain Bryant."

She consulted the semi-transparent screen in front of her, muttering the name 'Joe' to herself until she found him. "Oh, I see. Well here you are! You're a little early!" She grinned again. As silly as she looked, Joker still found her oddly sweet.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'll just wait here," he said, and she agreed with three nods.

Taking a few steps he rounded half a corner and looked around the small, square room. There were chairs lining three of the four tight walls, and Alliance propaganda posters were arranged above these. Something for people to read while they were waiting. Some of them were old, though. Antiques, even. Joker suspected that the decorations may have been some sort of personal touch.

Facing away from him, studying the floor intently, was a man of about Joker's age in the familiar military blue slacks and shirt. The man's head was supported by muscular arms and topped by a space-black sculpture of gelled hair. The look reminded Joker intensely of the old-time fashions from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, the sort of thing one would expect to see in the earliest recorded vids. He even had little black sideburns. Joker mused that it was a shame he didn't have a leather jacket and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his shirt sleeve.

Deciding he had wondered at the man long enough, Joker began pacing across the walls. He didn't feel like sitting down in his free time, feeling that he did quite enough of it when he was piloting. As Joker paced, the man shuffled his face to a more comfortable position within his palms.

After a while the black-haired man looked up, revealing intense, dark brown eyes and an immaculately-shaved, square chin. He looked exactly like the marines pictured on the posters behind him. For just an instant he glanced at Joker's crutches. It was enough to piss the pilot off.

"So," the stranger said with a warm, slightly rough voice. "What did they drag you in for?"

For a moment, Joker did not know how to respond to this insult. By the word 'drag' Joker assumed the remark was meant at the expense of his disease. He had to calm himself down before he replied, restraining himself.

"Yeah, great to meet you, too," he said with enough venom get his feelings across. After a moment he added, "Nice sideburns."

The tough guy looked confused, though whether he was faking it or not was hard to tell. He twisted his brow and jaw around as he stammered, "Did I…?" then added a curt, "I'm sorry." After this display, he looked away out of embarrassment.

Joker began vigorously striding across the wall, just to prove that he could. After a while he felt silly. This muscled man in Navy fatigues was exhibiting strangely cowardly behavior, which made Joker begin to wonder if he really hadn't intended any offense with the 'drag you in' comment. It would not be the first time he had overreacted to something a stranger had said.

Leaning back against the wall closest to the odd man and letting his arms rest, Joker looked across at him for a moment. He met his eyes and spoke again.

"I'm not exactly sure what I'm here for either way." He paused again. "Just thought I'd…"

When it was clear the stranger did not intend to finish the thought, Joker decided that he had misunderstood the earlier remark. As much to make the poor sap feel better as anything else, he answered his original question. "Yeah, I got a meeting with Captain Takes-His-Time in there," he said. "Smart money says it's a job interview."

At this, the uniformed man smiled, seemingly amused by some part of Joker's comment. Seeing this effect in him made Joker grin proudly.

"So what _did_ you do to make them reel you in here?" the stranger asked him.

"Ninety-nine percent flight record. How about you?"

The smart remark earned Joker an enigmatic reply. "I ruined someone else's," the man said.

Joker tried to hide his interest. He laughed a little as he said, "Oh… kay, so what do you do? Soldier?" he figured he would start the shy fellow off with an easy question.

"No offense, I just don't make it a habit of talking about it," said the presumably-soldier. "If I had my way, I wouldn't be anywhere near here."

The vague, mysterious answers were beginning to try Joker's patience. He wondered if perhaps this awkward man was a little crazy, or at least had some registered nervous disorder. He relaxed for a moment, forgetting about him, until his curiosity returned. As he tried to think of something funny to say that might get the other man talking, he remembered something from his past that made him smirk.

"What's with the long face?" he asked the soldier. "Don't you ever smile?"

Looking around the room as if searching for an answer, the stranger replied with genuine confusion. "What's there to smile about?"

Joker decided at that moment that he liked the guy. "Yeah, I hear that," he said, letting him know he understood, at least a little.

Another lull settled in to the conversation, until the soldier said, "They brought me in because I'm an L2."

It took just a moment for Joker to remember what that particular Alliance abbreviation meant. "Biotic?" he asked for confirmation.

"Yeah…"

"So that means, what? You're better than L3's?"

The soldier now gave his strangest comment yet. "L3's?" he repeated, as if he had never heard the term.

"Uh… yeah," Joker said. "You know. The new guys? They don't get seizures? I thought you guys were all… up in arms about it."

"I didn't know we were up in arms about anything."

Talking to this gravelly, thoughtful man was a fascinating challenge. He offered, "Soldiers don't watch news vids, huh?"

"I guess not," came the gravel-voiced retort. "Apparently we make them."

They both laughed at this; there was nothing else to do, and the soldier held out a hand, stretching just a little but leaving Joker enough room that he didn't seem patronizing. He appreciated it.

"Kaidan Alenko," the soldier said, and they shook.

"Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau… call me Joker."

Alenko acknowledged him with a look before suggesting, "_Joker_ does seem a lot easier to say."

"Yeah, and it fits my warm and fuzzy personality too. You got anything shorter than _Kaidan Alenko?_"

This one stumped the soldier, who had to pause for a moment before coming up with an innocent, "Kaidan?"

With an amused snort he wished he had disguised, Joker replied, "I'll take _Alenko._"

"Alright…"

Once again, the chat dried up. Joker began to wonder what was taking Captain Bryant so long and carried himself back to the other wall, facing opposite Alenko. The silence continued, growing stronger for a while, and Joker wondered how to break it. When his eyes started wandering, he noticed a peculiar poster above the soldier's head. It was old, older than the rest, out of place and entirely Mexican. It occurred to him that maybe someone with a name like _Kaidan Alenko_ could translate the old Spanish text for him.

Joker read the words of the slogan, not sure if he was pronouncing them correctly. "_La muerte comienza con usted?_"

And then it happened.

As if the phrase were a trigger or the words of some magical spell, Alenko leaped out of his seat, moved his arm strangely and began to glow bright blue. The whole movement took about a second. Immediately terrified, Joker tried to dart backwards, but his crutches were not as fast as his shocked mind.

He felt the vibrations as his crutch bounced off the chair behind him, then felt the friction as its end slipped helplessly away from the sheen of the Alliance floor. The room was still lit a deep blue in the afterglow of Alenko's bizarre display, as if the decorators had been in, bringing it into line with the Citadel and the rest of the station.

He fell, landed on his left leg, and felt two separate _cracks_ as the weak limb failed to support his weight. One of them must have been audible, judging by Alenko's reaction. His other leg automatically tried to prop him up and broke itself below the knee. Muting his howl of pain as much as possible, Joker collapsed onto his side, seeing Alenko approaching in a hurry.

"Oh God! Are you alright?"

Joker worked out several clever replies to this idiotic question, but settled on yelling, "Jesus! Ah, Jesus! You asshole!"

Suddenly losing his nervous disposition, the soldier grabbed Joker and lifted him up, though the pilot was barely aware of what was happening. His legs reacted poorly to being manhandled and shot bolts of pure agony through his back and into his brain. Riding it out, Joker breathed steadily and gritted his teeth until the sensations began to lessen. This had happened to him many times before, so he was good at riding it out.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," Alenko said. This was slightly more constructive than "Oh God! Are you alright?" but not nearly helpful enough. Joker leaned across the room to see the startled receptionist staring at them both.

"Call the hospital!" Joker demanded, "Or… _sickbay_ or whatever the hell… _Jesus!_" A thought occurred to him. "The Navy's gotta have some medi-gel lying around somewhere!" he blurted out. He waited a moment for either of his bemused companions to fetch him some gel, but none came.

While he had been speaking, Alenko had manipulated Joker's broken body into the chair behind him. When his legs were finally able to relax, he felt a wave of relief travel through his body.

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant…" the biotic said again. "I'm–"

As mental clarity returned to him, Joker held up a hand to silence the soldier. "It's… ah… it's alright," he breathed. "It's alright…"

Thankfully, Alenko nodded understanding and quietly took the seat next to him, leaving Joker to rest for a moment. That moment seemed to last a long time, and was ended when the receptionist entered to tell them that some medics were on their way. He gave her an irritated thumbs-up for her trouble and she vanished behind her desk.

Joker turned to face Alenko. When he had his attention he told him, "On any other day I'd have turned you into shine matter."

Alenko paused, then without breaking eye contact he retorted, "You'd probably have to catch me first."

Joker stared hard at the soldier's dark eyes, for the first time in his memory completely dumbfounded. All his life he had been forced to listen to subtle, snide remarks about his legs. The constant, hushed reactions to his condition had always been the hardest symptom to suffer.

This nervous, weird-looking biotic who had just caused him to break both of his legs had given him… not an insinuation or a piece of veiled sympathy, but an outright insult. And a really nasty one at that.

Still staring, Joker conceded defeat and laughed. Out of lifelong habit, the laugh was restrained, but Kaidan joined in. It felt wonderful.

"You're brave, Alenko," he said through residual chuckles, "You're brave."

The two of them sat there in silence, looking straight ahead but smiling to themselves. As they took in the events of the strange meeting, they recognised the beginning of a friendship. It felt somehow alien to Joker, but he hoped they had been called to the captain's office for the same reason. When the medics finally arrived with the stretcher and began to move him to the infirmary, Kaidan followed.

-

-

-

**Well that's that! Thanks for reading, and even more thanks if you left a review.**

**If you liked this, I really do recommend 'The Thief'.**

**Buch**


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